


Artifact-Enhanced

by clare_dragonfly



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Romance, Yuletide, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare_dragonfly/pseuds/clare_dragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating really sucks when you can sense every lie. Steve has pretty much resigned himself to being alone except for the team--and the team is pretty great, so he can't complain about that. But when he and Claudia are sent to investigate people falling asleep for months, that all may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Perils of Dating as a Human Lie Detector

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noxnoctisanima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxnoctisanima/gifts).



> Huge thanks to my beta, Kayim! Any remaining errors are, naturally, mine.

"But enough about me," says Joey, who was cute at first but has been lying to Steve all evening. "What about you?" He takes a sip of his drink. "What do you do for a living?"

Steve forces a smile. "I actually can't tell you about my job. I'm a federal agent, let’s leave it at that."

"Ooh, a spy?" says Joey, eyes too bright, inching forward in the bench. "That is totally hot."

Steve almost laughs. "That's the first honest thing you've said all night."

***

There are comforting sounds and delicious smells filling the B&B when he opens the door, and he sighs quietly with relief. “Steve, is that you?” Claudia shouts from the living room. “You’re home early.”

“Funny,” he calls back, hanging up his jacket before walking into the room, “I thought I’d be better off if I’d come back an hour earlier.”

“Date didn’t go well?” Myka asks sympathetically. She pats the couch next to her. “Come on, we’re having a Lord of the Rings marathon. Have some popcorn before Pete hogs it all.”

Steve slumps down on the couch where directed and grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Pete’s lap. “Movies that last all night? Perfect distraction.” Not to mention his friends, of course, who have at least learned not to lie to him.

Claudia, who has been sitting on the floor, scootches over to rest her head on his knees. “Wasn’t he cute? You showed me his picture. I thought he was cute.”

“The problem with meeting guys over the internet,” he says, tousling her hair, “is that once you meet them in person they have to keep up what they said online, so they do nothing but lie.”

“But that’s half the fun of a first date,” says Pete. He throws a piece of popcorn in the air, tries to catch it in his mouth, and misses. It bounces off Steve’s scalp and tumbles onto Claudia’s shoulder. She snatches it up and eats it.

“I am so glad I never have to date you,” Steve says.

“What? I’m a great guy. I’m totally hot. Don’t you think I’m hot?”

Steve punches Pete in the arm. Pete punches back. It hurts.

“But it’s not like there’s any other way to meet guys when you’re constantly flying around the country hunting down secret artifacts,” Steve continues. Aragorn leaps onto the scene on the television, and he admires the hot guy waving a sword around for a moment. “I mean… obviously.”

“I do okay,” says Myka with a smirk.

Steve snorts. “I said guys, not de-bronzed Victorian-era mad scientists.”

“Well, I wish I could give you advice, but I haven’t had such a great time myself,” Claudia says. “At least we’ll always have Aragorn and Legolas.”

“It’s not so bad,” Steve says, taking a handful of popcorn and then leaning back in the seat. “At least I have my friends.”

“You are so sweet.” Myka pinches his cheek. “We’ll always be here for you.”

“I know. Thanks.”

But despite his words and extended movie-watching, he lies awake that night, wishing there was someone else to share his bed.


	2. Why Artie Was Annoyed

Morning is… well, it’s not quite a disaster, but it is far too early and far too bright, considering Steve barely had half a beer the night before. But Leena makes an excellent mocha and a hearty breakfast, and it wakes him up enough to face Artie and the Warehouse—which is good, because it’s case assignment day.

Pete and Myka get sent to Alaska to hunt down something related to an author Steve has never heard of (Pete whines and Myka is thrilled). Then Artie comes toward Steve and Claudia with a very unpleasant gleam in his eyes.

“This one came to us through Doctor Vanessa,” he says, thrusting a folder toward Claudia.

“Oo-ooh,” Steve and Claudia sing-song in unison. They high-five. Artie glares at them. Come to think of it, that was probably what the unpleasant gleam was about.

“Do we know what it is?” Steve asks as Claudia opens the folder and skims the first page.

“No, we do not,” Artie says. “The system has looked for matches, but nothing we can be sure about. People in Philadelphia have been going missing. They’re gone for two days, then turned up at the university hospital, brought in by strangers. They’re asleep when they’re brought in. The first one was discovered almost two months ago and none of them have woken up yet. The doctors can’t find any neurological cause.”

Steve grimaces. “Sounds artifact-y to me.”

“Could be Neil Gaiman-related,” Claudia says.

“What?” Steve and Artie say in unison. Steve does not attempt to high-five Artie.

Claudia looks up from the folder and rolls her eyes at them. “In the first Sandman book, by Neil Gaiman, Dream is trapped for decades in a magical prison. People come down with weird kinds of sleeping sickness. Some of them won’t wake up, some of them can’t go to sleep.”

“Well, the only symptom we have so far is the failure to wake up,” says Artie. “But make inquiries. The usual. You know what to do.”

“We do.” Claudia salutes. “To the Bat-mobile, Jinksy!”

Steve follows her to the umbilicus. “You are not Batman.”

“Catwoman?”

“I can see that. But only if I can be the Riddler.”

“Really? Sweet. It’s a good thing we’re on the side of the law, because we would make one kick-ass villain team.”

“Hell, yes,” says Steve. They high-five (again) over the hood of her Prius, then climb in for the drive to the airport.

***

“So what do we know about this Neil Gaiman?” Steve asks once they’re under way on the plane.

“Too much,” says Claudia. “He blogs and everything. Have you really never read the Sandman books? I can’t believe it. I bet Pete has.”

“Ouch,” Steve says, grinning.

Claudia shakes her head. “I’m taking you to a bookstore when we get there. Or a comics shop, if we can find one.”

“Well, it’s not our only option,” he says. “I mean, this could be related to something else entirely. You said there were other symptoms in the book.”

“Yeah.” Claudia frowns. “Not just sleeping, but nightmares and stuff. We should ask around at psychiatrists, see if they have patients who have been reporting unusually bad nightmares. I think we would already know about people who can’t sleep, though, so it might not be related to Gaiman at all. What else could make people fall asleep and not wake up?”

“Presumably it’s not the actual sleeping sickness,” says Steve. “It doesn’t seem like a very unusual symptom, does it?”

There’s a buzzing noise. Claudia leans forward to reach into her back pocket. “Looks like we have some new info.” She opens the Farnsworth, and Steve leans forward so they can both look into the frame. “Hey, Artie, got some news for us?”

“Yes.” Artie, with his bushy eyebrows, looks as intense as always in the black-and-white Farnsworth view. “One of the patients has woken up.”

“That’s good news,” says Steve. “Have they said anything?”

“The doctors said that she just keeps saying she thought she was dead. But she can’t, or won’t, say why. What’s your ETA?”

“We’ll be landing in Philly in an hour,” says Claudia. “Then it’s probably half an hour to the hospital.”

“Good,” says Artie. “I’ll update the hospital and let them know to expect you. They have the patients in a separate ward, so you’ll be able to get through all that efficiently.”

“Ten-four,” says Claudia, and they hang up. She tucks the Farnsworth away again and shakes her head. “That doesn’t sound anything like what happened in the Sandman book.”

“Did those people ever wake up?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, but it was decades. And they definitely didn’t think they’d been dead.” Claudia frowns, tapping her neatly-painted fingernails against the plane window. “Maybe our guy thinks he’s killing people with his artifact, whatever it is, but really just putting them to sleep?”

“If so, that would probably be the first artifact that actually made somebody less dangerous.”

Claudia grimaces. “Yeah. Doesn’t sound likely. But hopefully it does mean that all of our patients will be waking up. Maybe all we have to do is follow a trail of sleeping people until we catch an artifact.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” says Steve.

“Of course not. Though at least we’ve got a human lie detector on our side!” She gives an exaggerated grin and elbows him in the side. “Of course, I haven’t figured out how exactly to make you useful yet.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” says Steve. “At least I can be successful in my job.”

“Still pouting about your date?”

“I don’t pout,” says Steve. “Wallowing? Pining?”

“Pinin’ for the fjords.”

“That is exactly what I am doing. Pretty soon I’ll muscle up to those bars and _voom_.”

Claudia giggles. “You’ll find somebody someday.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” He shrugs, slumping down in his seat. “I don’t know. On the one hand, it’s like, it’s not a big deal. I’ve got an amazing job and some kick-ass friends. What difference does it make if I don’t have a boyfriend? I am happy with my life right now. Maybe just not content.”

“I get it. It would be nice to have someone to cuddle with on the couch and eat popcorn and watch movies.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “That’s exactly what we were doing last night with Myka and Pete.”

“You’re right. Bad example. Stay up late and eat marshmallows with?”

“Two weeks ago.”

She grins. “See? You don’t need a boyfriend after all.”

“Yeah, like you believe that.”

“You’re right.” She gives an exaggerated frown and strokes her pointed chin. “We need to figure out a way to get you somebody. Internet dating is obviously out, if everyone lies.”

“I don’t need your help,” he says. “I can do okay for myself.”

“But I want to help you! You’re my biffles! Besides, I may as well put my energy into finding a boyfriend for you, since I’ve been so spectacularly unsuccessful at finding one for myself.”

He laughs and pushes himself upright so he can fling an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, you’ve done a great job finding yourself a boyfriend. You’ve had, what, three?”

“Fargo and I never actually dated. Todd and I aren’t allowed to see or talk to each other anymore. And Dwayne turned out to be a colossal asshole who I am glad—and proud—to be rid of.” She gets so worked up about it that she actually shakes her finger at him.

He grins. “Now who’s pouting?”

“I’m not pouting. I’m bitter. Big difference.” She shoves his arm off her shoulders. “Hey, you know I’m successful at whatever I put my mind to. It’s time to start Operation Find Steve a Boyfriend.”

He tugs her purple streak. “I have the feeling there’s nothing I can say to dissuade you.”

“Why would you want to? It’ll be fun?”

He shakes his head and decides to say nothing more about it for the time being.

***

It takes far longer than it should to get their hands on the rental car that was supposed to be pre-approved for them; Steve does all the talking, since Claudia isn’t actually old enough yet to rent a car, but they claim to have lost the reservation and no matter how many times he insists they’re lying they won’t listen to him.

Eventually, they end up with a hideous SUV that will probably suck gas like nobody’s business and be hard to park besides, but at least it’s a car. Steve insists on driving to blow off steam, and pulls into the hospital’s parking lot with force that is probably unnecessary.

Claudia takes over the talking then, and introduces them at the front desk as “the agents the CDC sent.” Working for the Warehouse has made her quite adept at hiding the truth without actually lying.

“Just a moment,” says the woman at the front desk. She types something into her computer and presses a button. Claudia turns around and wrinkles her nose at Steve. He shrugs back at her, mostly because he’s not sure whether she’s upset about the wait or about the out-of-date computer.

A few minutes later, a dark-haired man in his thirties appears from a hallway and walks towards him. The first thing Steve notices is that from the way he walks, he’s law enforcement, and has a concealed weapon somewhere. The second thing Steve notices is that he has the perfect, symmetrical features of a Greek god and the haughty expression to go with it.

He keeps his expression absolutely poker-straight. Claudia does not need any encouragement.

“You’re from the CDC?” the man asks when he gets close to them. “I’m Detective Toby Trotman.” He holds out his hand.

Steve shakes. “Pleased to meet you, Detective Trotman. I’m Special Agent Steve Jinks and this is Claudia Donovan. Are you investigating this case?”

He shakes Claudia’s hand and nods. “I was just assigned to it since Abigail Godfrey woke up and started talking about people trying to kill her. I’ve got all the information from the detectives assigned to the missing persons cases—unfortunately, that isn’t much.” He gestures for them to follow him, and they do, down the same clean, bright hallway that he came down.

“People, plural, trying to kill her?” Claudia asks alertly. It’s pretty rare for more than one person to work successfully with an artifact, Steve recalls—they tend to be possessive.

“Sorry, slip of the tongue,” says Detective Trotman. “Actually, we don’t know if anyone’s tried to kill her at all. This way.” He leads them briskly through the corridors, weaving past doctors, nurses, and patients alike as though they are nothing more than furniture in his way. “She just keeps insisting she was dead, or thought she was dead.”

“Which of those is it?” Steve asks, trying not to be irritated. Every detail could be important, and Trotman doesn’t seem like he has them straight.

“Not sure,” says Trotman. “She doesn’t seem to be, either. Maybe you’ll get more out of her. I’m a homicide detective—I’ve investigated kidnappings, drug crimes, all along the spectrum, but we always knew exactly what the trauma was. Your experience might be more helpful here.”

“We hope so,” says Steve.

“So do you think this is more a psychological thing or a physical thing?” Trotman says, turning a handle to open door. “Because I have to say, it seems like it’s really all in her head.”

“It’s obviously too soon to say, but we can’t rule out any physical cause when there are so many people with the same symptoms,” says Claudia. “How many, exactly, is it now?”

“Five,” Trotman says, half a sigh. The ward they’re in now is almost silent, four small rooms with doors that close. “Abigail Godfrey is the first, and the only one to wake up. She’s right in here.” He gestures at the door.

Claudia nods. “Thank you, Detective Trotman.”

He finally cracks half a smile. “Call me Toby. I’m sure we’ll be working closely together.” He’s looking at Steve, not Claudia, when he says it. Steve would take it as flirting, but Trotman’s eyes are cold. At least he’s not lying.

“Thank you, Toby,” he says. “We’ll want to catch up with you about the missing persons cases once we’ve finished with Miss Godfrey.”

“I’ll be here,” he says with a nod.

Steve barely has the door to Abigail Godfrey’s room shut behind them when Claudia elbows him, raising her eyebrows and opening her mouth wide in an exaggerated gesture. He closes his eyes and groans briefly. Either she noticed his attraction to Trotman… or she just noticed that he’s cute, and is trying to play matchmaker. Already.

“We don’t have time for this,” he tells her in an undertone. “We have an artifact to bag.”

“Yeah, and Toby’s going to help us with it,” Claudia says, grinning hugely. “Working closely together.”

He shoves her lightly aside and approaches the bed, where a thin blonde woman is sitting up and staring at the television with her eyes half open. There are two chairs by her bed, and he pushes one closer and sits down. “Miss Godfrey?”

She swallows and turns her head to him with a jerky motion—she doesn’t seem surprised, just stressed out. “It’s Mrs., actually.”

“My apologies.”

“It’s all right.” She manages a smile, though her eyes are still huge and haunted. “You’re not a doctor. More cops?” Her eyes flick up to Claudia, who is walking slowly toward them, and she frowns. People never think cops when they see Claudia.

“Not exactly. We’re here from the CDC.” It’s a comfortable enough lie to go with, and it should get them access. “We’re trying to figure out what happened to you and the others with your symptoms. Can you tell us what you remember?”

“I… I’ll try.” She hitches herself up, pushing her torso straighter in the bed. Steve glances around the room and notices a bouquet of daffodils on the table, but no other signs of visitors. And there’s no one in the ward with her. “It was… I was at home…”

“Take it slow,” Claudia encourages her, walking around to lean against the wall on the other side of the hospital bed. “You can pause anytime you want. Was this a usual time for you to be home?”

“Yes, I work from home. I was actually having lunch and the doorbell rang.” She sniffs and rubs at her nose, though she doesn’t seem to be crying, at least not yet. “Sorry, this probably has nothing to do with whatever made me sick.”

“Any detail is important, ma’am. Whatever seems relevant to you, whatever you can remember.” Steve gives what he hopes is an encouraging nod.

“Are you sure?”

“The weirdest stuff can be a clue,” says Claudia. “We had a case once where a bottle of spray paint turned out to be relevant.”

That brings a real smile to Mrs. Godfrey’s face. “All right. Well, the last thing I really remember is a man ringing the doorbell.”

“What did he look like?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him very well. He had a cap on that covered his face. He was a white man, I think, average height, maybe a little taller. He was…” She trails off, staring once again at the television.

“Mrs. Godfrey?” Steve prompts gently. “Are you all right?”

She gasps, then looks around wildly, breathing fast and putting her hand to her chest. “Am I—oh, I’m sorry, I keep forgetting…”

“Forgetting what?” asks Claudia.

“That I’m alive. That this isn’t all just… memories.”

“We’re definitely real.” Steve reaches out to touch her arm gently. “See?”

She looks at his hand, then nods slowly. “Yes. I couldn’t feel anything, you see.”

Steve nods and looks up to catch Claudia’s eye. Nerve damage? It doesn’t seem to mean anything to her, because she shrugs and says to Mrs. Godfrey, “You were telling us about the man who rang your doorbell.”

“Oh. That’s right. He was the same height as my husband.”

Steve makes a mental note of that. Definitely going to have to talk to the husband.

“He said he had a delivery, and I hadn’t ordered anything, but I thought maybe my husband had. So we brought it into the living room and…”

“What was it?” Claudia asks. “Do you remember anything about it?”

“Oh, certainly.” Mrs. Godfrey is still looking at Steve’s hand. He hasn’t moved it, wanting to remind her that she’s still here. She lifts her left hand and lightly touches his, then clears her throat and continues. “It was a very big box. He said he was a furniture mover, but I don’t know what kind of furniture it was.”

“Very big, like a refrigerator, or very big, like a dozen pairs of shoes?” Claudia asks.

“More like a refrigerator. Not quite that big, I don’t think. And certainly not as heavy as a refrigerator.”

“What happened when you brought it into the house?” Steve asks.

“Well, we set it… I’m sorry, miss, what was your name?” She’s looking up at Claudia now.

“Claudia Donovan. Pleased to meet you.” Claudia smiles and sticks out her hand.

Mrs. Godfrey takes it. “Thank you. I’m Abigail Godfrey.”

“I know,” says Claudia, a faint line appearing between her eyebrows. “Detective Trotman introduced us.”

“Oh. Of course. I forgot.”

Claudia nods. “That’s all right. Where did you put the box that the furniture mover brought?”

“Oh, we left it in the middle of the living room. I thought my husband would want to see it when he got home, and I wasn’t entirely sure if I’d be available—sometimes I’m on the phone with a client when he gets home, so I wanted to make it obvious. But the furniture mover said he wanted to make sure it was the right thing, so he opened the box, even though I told him I didn’t know what it was supposed to be.”

“And after that?” Steve prompts when Mrs. Godfrey pauses.

She shakes her head, swallowing again. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Nothing?” says Claudia. “Was there any packaging inside the box? Did you see what the furniture was, or did you just pass out?”

“I didn’t pass out,” Mrs. Godfrey says, sounding oddly indignant. “Not at all. I was pushed.”

“Pushed?” asks Steve. “Who pushed you?”

“I don’t… well, I suppose it must have been the furniture mover.” She lets go of their hands and lets her head fall back. “Yes, I didn’t realize it, but he must have pushed me.”

“Which way?” asks Claudia. “Toward the box, away from it, next to it?”

“Toward it,” she says firmly. “I didn’t remember that at all, how funny. It was as though he pushed me into it. But then… after that I don’t remember anything.”

“Do you remember nothing?” Steve probes. “Or do you remember fearing for your life?”

“No. I wasn’t… or maybe I was afraid.” Mrs. Godfrey frowns. “Yes. I thought I was dead. I was dead. I was sure I was dead.”

“Well, you’re not dead now,” Steve says, touching her again. His gut wrenches at her words. Could she have really been dead? Is there another artifact that’s resurrecting people, but resurrecting them to a long sleep? If so, that would definitely be something worth finding. They could have used something like that a couple of months ago.

“Yes.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you. I must have only thought I was dead. But I was so sure…”

“Do you remember anything between thinking you were dead and waking up here?” Claudia asks.

Mrs. Godfrey shakes her head. “No. I was—I mean, I thought I was dead, until the nurse touched me, and I wasn’t. There couldn’t be… well, I didn’t think there could be anything between those two. Being dead, thinking I was dead, it seemed to go on forever. It feels impossible that there could be anything I remember before that, or that I could be alive now.”

“I understand,” Steve says quietly, as a chill runs down his spine. Too much. It’s far too much like how he felt when he really was dead. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Mrs. Godfrey. You have our word we’ll do whatever we can to figure out how.”

She nods, rubbing at her eyes. “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.”

“Is there anyone we can call?” Claudia asks. “Has your husband visited?”

Mrs. Godfrey glances at the flowers. “He’ll be by again. Thank you, there isn’t anyone else.”

Steve pulls out a business card. It doesn’t say CDC or anything on it—in fact, it’s as plain and bland as possible, since he can’t exactly say “Warehouse Agent”—but he has a feeling Mrs. Godfrey isn’t going to notice any inconsistencies. “Call us if you think of anything else. Thank you, Mrs. Godfrey, you’ve been very helpful.” It twists at him to have to stand up and let go of her, since he’s sure she’ll fall into that confused state again, unsure if she’s alive or dead, but the case won’t get solved with him sitting there forever. He just hopes her husband will come back soon.

The air seems clearer once they’re out of that small room, even with Detective Trotman leaning against the wall waiting for them. He raises his eyebrows when they come out. “You were in there a while. Did you get her to talk?”

“It wasn’t exactly an interrogation,” Steve says. “She was happy to talk. We just had to remind her that she’s not dead.”

“Right. Well, the other patients are in those two back rooms, and they’re all asleep.” Trotman gestures at the closed doors. “You want to check on them too?”

“Yeah, we’d better,” says Claudia. “Jinksy, you take that one, I’ll take that one.”

Steve nods at her brisk pointing and goes in.

There’s a nurse in the room, wiping the forehead of the man in the second bed. She looks up in surprise at his entrance. “Hello? Are you a family member?”

Steve shakes his head and repeats his story about the CDC. The nurse’s lined face relaxes into a smile. “Oh, I’m so glad someone is here to investigate. We just can’t make heads or tails of what’s happened to these poor people. I’ve wondered if it’s some experimental DoD thing…” The hopeful way her sentence trails off and her raised eyebrows tell Steve that she’s rather hoping it’s a DoD experiment.

“Anything’s possible, ma’am,” he tells her, which serves the dual purposes of pleasing her and being true. “Have you been treating these two all this time?”

“Yes.” She points to the man whose forehead she has been bathing. “John Dewey, the second victim, and Howard Glencross, the fifth. At least, so far as we know.”

“Any interesting symptoms to report?”

She sighs, looks down at John Dewey, and gives him another half—hearted swipe with the cloth. “No, not really. John here has been sweating a fair amount, but for all I know that could be normal for him.”

Steve nods. He’d probably be sweating a lot, too, if he was in a living body while believing he was dead. “Everything else is normal? Heart rate, breathing?” He’s mostly improvising with his questions—his role in the ATF didn’t give him all that much contact with hospital patients.

“Yes. I mean, you can look at their charts, everything’s written out.” She gestures at the papers clipped to the feet of the bed. “But as far as we can tell they’re just asleep.”

“Thank you.” He walks to the foot of Glencross’s bed and takes a cursory look over the chart. It’s pretty arcane to him, but there’s no reason to disbelieve what the nurse is telling him—she seems pretty competent, and she certainly hasn’t lied once. In fact, she was probably his best chance to get useful information, so he’s lucky she was here. He replaces the chart and looks up at her. “Are you in charge of the whole ward, or just these two?”

“The whole ward, when I’m on-shift. At least, I was until Mrs. Godfrey woke up. Now she’s got her own nurse because we just don’t know what’s going on with that.”

“Well, you’ve been very helpful, Miss…?”

“Bartram. Nancy Bartram.” She smiles and the skin by her eyes crinkles pleasantly. “Glad I could help. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”

“I will. Thank you very much.”

He meets Claudia again in the hallway. “Anything interesting?”

She shakes her head. “I just skimmed the charts, but nothing caught my eye. You?”

He wonders how she learned to read medical charts, then realizes it might have something to do with her time in a mental institution and decides not to pursue the topic further. “I actually got to talk to their nurse. She says it’s just like they’ve been sleeping the whole time, but the one guy is sweaty.”

“I would be, too,” mutters Claudia.

“My thoughts exactly.” He glances around, realizing their conversation hasn’t been interrupted. “Where’s Trotman?”

Claudia’s expression instantly transforms into a mischievous grin. “Miss your boyfriend already?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says automatically, and before they can argue more the main door to the ward swings open. Trotman is carrying a tray with three cups on it.

“I guess I have good timing,” he says. He holds out the tray. “Thought you’d appreciate some coffee.”

There’s a lie in there somewhere, or maybe half of one. Steve decides not to pursue it, but takes the coffee. “Thanks. We do appreciate it.” He sips. It’s not very good, but he’d forgotten his poor night’s sleep until now—the caffeine gives his mind a much-needed jolt.

“So what are your plans now?” Trotman asks after a gulp of his own coffee.

“I think we’d better talk to Mrs. Godfrey’s husband,” Steve says with a glance at Claudia. She confirms it with a thumbs-up.

“Oh, good,” says Trotman, smirking. “He’s definitely at the top of my list. Come on, I’ll take you to him.”


	3. In Which Claudia is Unsubtle

Steve would have preferred to take their own car, but he can tell Claudia won’t let him argue, and it probably would be good to have an actual cop there when they question the husband. If nothing else, he’ll be a distraction while Steve and Claudia hunt around for artifacts.

He tries to ignore the pleasant cinnamon-y smell when Trotman takes his arm to point out his car.

“So what is it that puts Mr. Godfrey on the top of your list?” Steve asks once they’re under way. He’s in the front passenger seat with Trotman driving; Claudia insisted on sitting in the back, which he thought was another ploy to put him and Trotman together, but now she’s laying down across the bench, so maybe she’s just tired.

“He doesn’t seem very invested in his wife,” says Trotman. “I mean, he visited her once while she was unconscious—and she was out for almost two months. And he brought her flowers when she woke up, but he didn’t stay very long.”

That made sense to Steve, but it still pinged his radar. “Is that everything?”

Trotman glanced sideways at him with a frown. “No, not quite. He just seems like a creep.”

“How so?” Steve prompts.

“He hit on one of the nurses while he was visiting the first time. I mean, he was kind of subtle about it, so maybe I was misinterpreting. But she seemed uncomfortable, too. I’m gay, so I might miss some of those straight girl signals, but she got away from him pretty quick.”

In the back seat Claudia suddenly erupts into a fit of coughing. Steve is absolutely certain it’s staged to hide laughter, or possibly a cheer. “You all right back there, Claud?” he asks, much more loudly than necessary.

“I’m fine,” she croaks. Cough, hack. “Just got some fibers up my… nose. You keep talking.”

Trotman glances back too, then takes one hand off the wheel long enough to spin a finger around his ear in the universal gesture for “crazy,” giving Steve a questioning look. He grins and shrugs and changes the subject.

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he says. “From Mrs. Godfrey’s description of the last thing she saw before she fell unconscious, it could very well be her husband who did this.”

“Yeah? You think he released some weird spores or something?”

“Could be.” He would leave it at that, but something—maybe just a desire to keep covering the lie—compels him to add, “Or a drug of some kind, maybe.”

“Like a super-sonic date rape drug?”

“That’s… certainly an idea.”

“Hey.” Trotman lowers his voice. “Thanks for being cool with the gay thing. Not all my fellow cops are comfortable with it.”

“Yeah.” Steve looks directly at him—he can’t meet his eye while Trotman is driving, of course, but he knows all the best ways to convey honesty. “I get that, absolutely. I’m gay, too. I’m lucky enough to have coworkers who are completely comfortable with it.”

“Hey, that’s great.” Trotman lifts his right hand off the wheel and holds it up in a fist. It takes Steve a moment to figure out that he’s waiting for a fist-bump. He lifts his own fist and bumps Trotman’s lightly.

***

Steve closes the car door and looks around. It’s a brick rowhouse neighborhood, not much to distinguish it from much of the Jersey of his youth. Except that it may very well contain an artifact.

Trotman and Claudia join him on the sidewalk. “It’s that one,” says Trotman, pointing, and they jog up the steps.

“You take the lead,” Steve says to Trotman. “You’re the real cop—you have authority.”

Trotman shrugs. “Fine with me. We don’t have anything on him, though, do we?”

Steve shakes his head. “If you can’t get us inside, we can probably manage it. But he’s not going to take us seriously if we introduce ourselves as agents from the CDC. And if you do the talking, we can look around—we might be able to identify whatever it is.”

“All right.” Trotman rings the doorbell.

Claudia nudges Steve. He turns to look at her, only to find that she’s holding up both of her thumbs and giving him an exaggerated shrug. He shoves her lightly enough not to make her lose her balance and turns back to the door.

It opens after a moment to a man whose balding head is at odds with his muscular frame. He frowns squintily at them. “Can I help you?”

“Hello, Mr. Godfrey.” says Trotman. “Detective Trotman—you remember me, from the hospital. I’m investigating your wife’s case. These two are assisting me.” He gestures negligently back at Steve and Claudia, like they’re not important. “We’ve gotten a new lead on what happened to your wife and we’d like to ask you some more questions. Can we come in?”

Godfrey’s eyes dart around wildly, from face to face and side to side, and Steve knows instantly that he’s their man. He’s trapped and he knows it. But he also knows that he’s using something outside the understanding of normal law enforcement, and he must believe they won’t be able to catch them, because he nods and steps back, holding the door wide for them.

Trotman has Godfrey lead the way into the living room, and Claudia, trailing, catches Steve’s eye and jerks her head toward the kitchen. He nods and follows the other men into the living room; it could be anywhere, and he ought to be there for the questions, so he can catch any lies.

“Do you know what’s happened to them?” Godfrey asks, seating himself on a love seat. “Are there any suspects?” He doesn’t ask either of the others to sit down, which is fine with Steve. He begins to run his eyes over the various knickknacks on display. Nothing stands out—nothing old or particularly strange. Mrs. Godfrey appears to collect tiny porcelain animals. He puts a glove partway on, shielding the bright purple with his body, and begins to carefully touch them one by one.

“Why do you ask about suspects, Mr. Godfrey?” Trotman asks. “This could just be an illness.”

“Well,” Godfrey half-laughs, half-coughs, ”there wouldn’t be police on the job if you didn’t suspect criminal activity, would there? Is it terrorists? Are they trying out some new sleep drug on us before they use it on a mass scale?”

He’s doing a pretty good job pretending to be paranoid. And he’s definitely not telling all of the truth, but Steve will let him work himself into a hole. It isn’t any of the porcelain figures. Steve returns the glove to his pocket and starts looking over the rest of the furniture.

“It could be,” says Trotman, echoing Steve and Claudia’s noncommittal responses. “Have you ordered or received any deliveries lately? We think the suspect may be posing as a delivery man.”

“No, not that I can recall,” says Godfrey.

“What about new items? Is there any furniture in your house that’s new in the last few months?”

It’s almost a Warehouse question, Steve reflects. Trotman might not have the training, but he’s thinking along the right lines. His respect rises.

“No, nothing like that. New furniture? I think I would have noticed that.”

“You’re lying,” says Steve, just as Claudia comes back from the kitchen, still wearing her purple gloves. She shakes her head to indicate that she didn’t find anything.

“What are you talking about?” says Godfrey indignantly, puffing himself up. “There isn’t anything new in this house!”

“Oh, that’s not true either,” says Steve, starting to grin. Sometimes his gift is really inconvenient, but times like this it’s incredibly useful. And he’s really delighted that Godfrey managed to phrase his defense in that way—if he hadn’t lied about something new being in the house, they wouldn’t have the first idea where to look.

“Where is it, Mr. Godfrey?” Claudia asks. Trotman looks back and forth between the two of them with his eyes wide and confused.

“There’s nothing,” he repeats stubbornly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We’ll find it,” says Steve with a shrug, snapping on his gloves. “But please, keep talking. It’s so useful to know what exactly is the truth and what isn’t. Shall we start on the second floor?”

“What are you doing?” asks Trotman. Claudia nods and leads the way up the stairs—the house is so narrow that Steve knows they couldn’t have missed anything on the first floor.

“This is an invasion of privacy!” Godfrey blusters, standing up from the couch and running a few steps after them. “I do not give you permission to search my home!”

“Lucky for us, we don’t need your permission!” Claudia crows. “Come on, Jinksy, I can practically smell it.”

Trotman takes the stairs two at a time until he catches up with them. “What the hell are you two doing? What are you looking for?”

“I’m afraid we can’t explain it,” Steve says, leaning in through the door that Claudia has opened. It’s an office, everything neat and clean and orderly. This is not the kind of room that an artifact lives in. “And we might not be able to give you enough proof to make an arrest. But we should be able to wake up all those people who are still asleep, and prevent anyone else from falling asleep.”

“That’s not good enough,” says Trotman. “I don’t care about the arrest, but I do need to know what’s going on.”

“Up here!” Claudia calls from the third floor. “This is definitely the right kind of room!”

Steve hurries up the stairs. He can hear Godfrey puffing up the stairs behind them, but he doesn’t care. Trotman is keeping up with him pace for pace.

They follow Claudia into a cluttered bedroom. It’s exactly what Artie’s office would look like if there was a bed in it and no obvious artifacts. Papers, junk, and clothing everywhere. Claudia is tugging repeatedly on the chain of a small lamp; it’s not turning on. Steve spies a large box in the corner. “That’s got to be it,” he says, pointing. He and Trotman walk over to look more closely at it. It’s a plain-looking cardboard box, but there are flaps cut out of the top.

“You might want to stand back,” he warns Trotman, opening the flaps. His heart leaps into his chest at the sight of what’s inside—that’s definitely a coffin, and it’s definitely old. This has to be the artifact. How do they neutralize something this big?

“What the hell?” says Trotman, leaning over Steve’s shoulder. Steve is about to turn and ask Claudia where the neutralizer spray is when he feels a hand on his back.

He falls.


	4. Trapped

He’s dead.

He’s dead and the darkness is all around him, there’s nothing but darkness, darkness and fear, and has he ever really been alive? Does life exist? Is he a living being or is he just death, just nothingness, just destruction? Was his return to life a dream, something his fevered mind came up with after the stress of death got to be too much, but now it’s given up again and everything is blackness and darkness and nothing and death…

Something touches his arm and he screams, screams without sound, screams for an eternity until he hears a sound and he suddenly swallows the scream, as empty now as he was full of it before.

“Steve! It’s okay, I’m right here!”

That’s _Claudia’s_ voice.

It’s much too far away and the “it’s okay” was definitely a lie, but it’s Claudia, and she’s there. He takes a deep breath and tries to find her but he can’t see anything and all he can feel with his hands is the inside of his gloves and the hard wood beyond that.

Wood?

He couldn’t feel anything the last time he was dead.

“I’m not dead?” he asks her, his voice an embarrassing squeak.

“You’re not dead,” she says, and her voice is warm and strong and _true_.

So he’s not dead.

“What’s going on?” says another voice, much closer to Steve’s ear—so close he can feel the breath on his cheek—and he realizes that it’s Trotman. Trotman is in here with him.

“Where are we?” Steve asks.

“You’re inside some kind of coffin. Godfrey shoved you in and shut the lid on you and skedaddled.”

“How long has it been?” Steve asks, trying to control his voice.

“Less than a minute,” Claudia says. “I was going to go after him but you started screaming and I don’t know what’s going on in there, are you okay?”

“No,” says Steve. “I mean, yes. We’re not hurt. At least, I’m not. Trotman?”

Trotman takes a deep breath. “How can you tell if you’re hurt or not? I can’t feel anything.”

Steve moves his arm. It was Trotman’s arm against his that moved him past the all-consuming fear of death. “Can you feel that?”

“Oh. Yes.”

Steve wriggles experimentally. They’re actually wedged in here in pretty uncomfortable positions, shoved side-by-side into a coffin. His left arm is pressed against Trotman, and their faces must be close together, but his legs are bent tightly and his torso isn’t touching anything but wood. “We’re fine, Claud. Just scared, I think.”

“This has to be the artifact,” says Claudia.

“Has to be,” Steve agrees. He’s not dead. That means he has a memory. He tries to remember what Mrs. Godfrey said. “He must have pushed her in here and she thought she was dead, too, but there wasn’t anyone else around to remind her that she was alive. So she fell asleep and didn’t wake up even when she was taken out. But what woke her up?”

“I don’t know,” says Claudia. “I don’t understand why he took her out at all.”

“He wanted to put someone else in it, of course,” says Trotman. “That’s why we have multiple victims. Did we fix it? Will they wake up now?”

“Unlikely,” says Steve. He swallows. “Not if putting someone else in here didn’t wake up the previous victims. Claud, can you get it open?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” She grunts. “I can’t get any purchase with these damn gloves.”

“Well, don’t touch it with your bare hands,” Steve says.

“It seemed fine for Godfrey,” Claudia says.

“Don’t!” Steve cries. “At least call Artie and tell him what’s going on before you go touching things that shouldn’t be touched.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Who the hell is Artie?” Trotman asks.

“He’s our boss,” Steve says. He can hear the Farnsworth ringing.

“You two aren’t from the CDC at all, are you.”

“The CDC did send us,” Steve says. “Sort of. Dr. Vanessa Calder works for both the CDC and our… organization.”

“I spoke to Dr. Calder. She didn’t say anything about that.”

“Of course not. It’s top-secret. Extremely top-secret. Quiet for a minute.” He hears Artie, very faint and far away, picking up Claudia’s Farnsworth call with his usual gruffness.

“Artie?” Claudia says. “We’ve found the artifact, but we don’t know what it is, and we don’t know what to do with it. Steve and Detective Trotman are stuck inside.”

“Well, what is it?” comes Artie’s tinny voice.

“It’s a coffin. I can’t get it open. Artie?”

“What?”

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to hide this from Detective Trotman.”

“Toby, please,” says Trotman.

“Don’t tell him any more than you have to,” says Artie. “Keep everything quiet as much as you can. Does the coffin have any distinguishing marks? Carvings, a name maybe?”

“It looks pretty ordinary,” says Claudia. “Hang on. It’s in a box—I’ll try to take the box apart.” Steve hears the soft clunk of the Farnsworth being set down, then ripping noises as Claudia pulls at the box.

“Well, you heard him,” says Steve, feeling obscurely disappointed. “We can’t tell you anything. Sorry.”

“Damn feds,” grunts Trotman. Toby.

“Does it help if I promise you there really is a good reason for us to keep this secret?”

“No,” says Toby, but it’s a lie, so Steve feels a little better.

“I don’t see anything, Artie,” says Claudia. “It’s just a plain wooden box. Not pine, I don’t think, but I don’t know what kind of wood it is.” She grunts. “I can’t move it to look at the bottom. Probably because there are two grown men inside.”

“What about the inside?” asks Artie.

“I didn’t see anything when Godfrey opened it. Steve, can you see anything in there?”

“Nothing at all,” says Steve. He takes a deep breath and twitches his arm again, reminding himself that he is still alive. “Toby? Can you see?”

“No. It’s just black in here.”

“They can’t see anything,” Claudia reports. “Do you know of any coffin artifacts?”

“I’m searching, give me a minute.”

“Hurry up, old man,” Claudia says, but her voice is strained, not the usual teasing tone she takes when she’s calling Artie old. “I don’t know how much time we have here. I optimized those computers ages ago, you should be able to find—”

“Ah-ha,” Artie interrupts her. “Sarah Bernhardt’s coffin. She was a—”

“We know, Artie, she was a famous turn-of-the-century actress, the Divine Sarah,” says Claudia. “The question is, what is her coffin doing here?”

“Her _coffin_?” says Toby. “Wouldn’t she have been buried in it?”

“Yeah, Artie, aren’t people usually buried in their coffins?” Claudia asks.

“Not this one,” says Artie. “She used it to prepare for her roles. She would sleep in it and it would make her feel as though she was really dead.”

“That’s definitely it, then,” says Claudia. “But why did Mrs. Godfrey wake up?”

“Maybe it just wore off,” Steve suggests, talking as loudly as he can so Artie can hear him through the coffin.

“Could be,” says Artie. “We don’t have much information on it. It’s only a suspected artifact—well, it was, but now we know what it does. I’m glad we found it, it sounds like it could be very dangerous.”

“Great, so, can I touch it with my bare hands?” Claudia asks.

“That is definitely not a good idea,” says Artie.

“Well, then how do I get Steve and Toby out of here? I can’t get the lid open. It’s not sealed or anything, it’s just stuck.”

“Can they move? Can they push the lid open?”

“Let’s try,” says Steve. He nudges each of the walls that he can feel. They all seem just as solid as the others, though twisted into his weird crouch it’s hard to say. “I don’t know which one is the lid, but I’m going to guess ‘up.’ Toby, you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” says Toby. “On three-one, two, three.”

They shove, both grunting, but for all Steve knows they’re pushing in entirely different directions, or just pushing the wrong way. It does nothing at all.

“This is too big to fit in a neutralizer bag,” says Claudia.

“Well, where’s your neutralizer spray?” asks Artie.

“In the car,” says Claudia. She groans. “And that’s back at the hospital. The detective drove us here and I can’t drive a damn cop car.”

“Take the bus,” says Trotman. “Two blocks south. It costs two dollars and there will be a lot of people getting off at the hospital, so you can’t miss it.”

There’s a pause, and when Claudia’s voice comes again, it’s closer. “Will you be okay while I’m gone, Steve?”

“I’ll be fine,” Steve says, and he’s glad she’s not the one who can sense every lie. “Go. Hurry back.”

She taps on the lid of the coffin, a strangely hollow sound. “I will.”

“Wait a minute, Claudia. Why isn’t the artifact working on them? Are they wearing gloves?”

“Steve is, Toby isn’t,” says Claudia. “I think it’s just that there’s two of them in there.”

“I noticed something was strange when I felt his arm,” Steve calls. “And then I heard your voice. Remember, in the hospital Mrs. Godfrey only seemed to be aware that she wasn’t dead when she could feel or hear one of us?”

“That’s right,” says Claudia. “It must not work as well if you’re touching someone or can hear someone. And Godfrey didn’t know that, or he wouldn’t have shoved you both in at once.”

“See, we’ll be all right,” says Steve. He swallows. “We just have to keep touching. And talking.”

***

The silence after Claudia leaves is terrible. Steve can feel his mind slipping until he moves his arm and feels Trotman again. He clears his throat. “We have to keep talking. If we start to think we’re dead we’ll probably fall unconscious again.”

“Shit. Uh, okay, if we have to talk, then I may as well ask you a question.”

Steve shrugs, or would shrug if he weren’t in such cramped quarters. “Sure. Though I warn you, I’m going to have to deflect any questions about what we do or what an artifact is.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured. This isn’t about that. At least, I don’t think it is.”

“Go ahead.”

“You said you first noticed something was strange when you felt my arm. Isn’t, um, being dead what’s strange? I mean, when I felt you move I thought that was the first normal thing. And it seemed like it had been forever since we fell in, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did,” says Steve. “Time doesn’t have any meaning when you’re dead. And as to the answer to your first question, maybe you’ve already figured it out from what I just said.”

“No,” says Toby. “Actually, I’m even more confused.”

“It’s a confusing thing,” says Steve. “I’ve died before. And I can’t really explain any more about that, but I am alive now, not a zombie or a vampire or anything like that. But I know what it’s like to be dead.”

“And this is just like that?”

“This is just like it. Or it was, until I started to be able to feel and hear things. I couldn’t do that when I was dead, not until…” He sighs. “I can’t tell you about that. Sorry.”

“It’s going to be hard to keep up a conversation if we keep running into things you can’t talk about.”

“I know. So, let’s talk about something else. You.” Steve has the sudden uncomfortable feeling that he is trying to salvage something out of a bad date, and shoves it away. This is definitely not a date. This is the job. “You’re a cop, so… tell me about that. Any interesting cases lately? What was it like when you started out? What made you decide to become a cop?”

“Dad was a cop. It’s kind of a tradition in my family. There isn’t really anything interesting to tell.”

Steve closes his eyes. Not that he can tell, except for the movement of his eyelids. “Don’t try to lie to me. Even if normal people would believe you when you say there isn’t anything interesting—which they wouldn’t, because you’re a cop—I can tell when you lie.”

“Is that another one of those things you can’t talk about?”

Steve really wishes they could see each other. Though maybe it wouldn’t help—he remembers how good-looking Toby is, and it’s kind of distracting. “No, actually. It’s just something I’ve been able to do all my life. I can tell when people are lying.”

“Really? Even without any visual cues?”

“Absolutely. You can test it if you want, I guess.” It’s something to do while they wait for Claudia to return.

“Okay, um, two truths and a lie. My parents disowned me when—”

“Lie,” Steve says, almost automatically.

“I didn’t even finish my sentence.”

“I told you I could tell when you were lying. What really happened when you came out to your parents?” You don’t come up with a lie like that when you have a happy home life.

Toby sighs. “Do I have to tell you?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. But now I’m going to be curious, and we have to keep talking.”

“Okay. My mom refused to believe it for like… four years. That was when I came home from college with my first boyfriend. Actually,” he chuckles, “she absolutely loved him. She was kind of pissed when we broke up. She wanted him for a son-in-law.”

Steve grins. “My mom was always pretty okay with it, actually. I was lucky.”

“My dad believed it, but he was kind of pissy for a while. I guess he just didn’t like the idea that his youngest son was gay.”

“Yeah, I get that. So what were the other two truths you were going to tell me?”

“I hadn’t come up with them yet.” There’s a pause, too long, Steve almost feels that he’s going to fall back into that yawning blackness—but then Toby starts to speak again, and it’s really only been a moment. “But I think it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Tell me about yourself. Here’s a topic. I might not be able to tell when people are lying, but I can tell when people are unhappy, and things aren’t perfect with your mom.”

“They’re a lot better than they used to be, actually.” Steve sighs, but he can’t think of a good excuse not to tell him, and it’s something to say, so he talks—he tells Toby all about Olivia, and how mad he was at his mom, and how Claudia got them to reconcile, though he leaves out everything about the metronome. And afterward he feels better.

And then Claudia is shouting to them, her voice carrying up the stairs and then through the room: “I’ve got the spray! Let’s do this thing!”

Toby and Steve both cheer. Steve almost touches Toby’s arm, then curls his hand into a fist. They’re going to get out of here. This is almost over. This nightmare… this oddly pleasant nightmare.

He hears the spray going. Claudia must be dousing the coffin liberally. He finds he’s holding his breath.

“Can you open it?” Claudia asks after several moments.

Steve pushes. “Nope, can’t move anything. You’ll have to do it.”

“Right. Stand back for genius.” There is quiet, then she grunts, and then she groans. “I can’t get it open. It’s still stuck.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Toby asks.

Steve lets out a long, shaky breath. “I don’t know. What’s wrong, Claudia?”

“There must be some way to open it. Godfrey could do it, I can too.”

“If you can find him—” says Toby.

“There isn’t time for that,” says Claudia. “I’m going to go… ooh, I’ve got it. I’ll be right back.” Her footsteps clatter out of the room and down the stairs.

“What is she going to do?” Toby asks.

“Find a crowbar?” Steve suggests. “The coffin should be neutralized… it shouldn’t be affecting us anymore. But obviously that hasn’t happened.”

“Is this some kind of magic?”

“Maybe,” Steve says. “I wish I could explain more.”

“I know, I know.”

“Got it!” Claudia cries. “Okay, mister coffin, prepare to be opened.” There’s a slam, and a grunt, and then some banging. Then panting. “God damnit.”

“What now?” Steve asks.

“I tried to pry it open with a crowbar—”

“I was right!”

“Yeah, you’re my best friend, you know me. But it still won’t work.”

“There must be some artifact-y way to get it open,” Steve says. “Like… like other stuff. It’s not going to open by mundane means.”

“Of course not,” says Claudia. “Time for another call to Artie.” The Farnsworth rings. Artie picks it up more quickly this time, and Claudia explains the situation.

“There must be another half to the equation,” says Artie. “Some other piece to the coffin or a related artifact that will let you open it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” says Claudia. “But what do I look for? Do you have anything in the database?”

“Not much,” says Artie. “Is there anything that looks like a piece of a coffin that’s not attached to it?”

“I told you, Artie, it’s really plain.” Claudia sounds really irritated now, which Steve is pretty sure is just because she’s scared. “There’s nothing here that looks like it’s even the same kind of wood as the coffin.”

“Maybe something else related to death?” Steve suggests. “Or Sarah Bernhardt?”

“Maybe I can find something acting-related,” says Claudia. “But this house is such a mess, except for the office, and there’s no way it’s there if that was Mrs. Godfrey’s space.”

“Leena and I are coming to help,” says Artie.

“You don’t have to do that,” says Claudia. She sighs. “Unless you can get here in, like, the next fifteen minutes. Because I think I’m going to be spending the entire time you’re flying over here searching. It’s not going to help much.”

“Don’t be silly,” says Leena. It makes Steve feel a little better to hear her voice, even if she is still far away—she can always be helpful. “We’re already on our way. You don’t have to panic.”

“I’m not panicking. I just have to get Steve and Toby out of here. Are you two doing okay?”

“Yeah,” says Toby. “As long as someone is talking, whether or not it’s one of us, it seems to keep us awake.”

“Then I’ll tell you everything I find. Artie, call me back if you come up with anything.”

She’s as good as her word, keeping up what Steve can only imagine is a running litany of everything she gets her hands on, since a lot of it is “stupid paper, stupid paper.” Finally she groans and says, “I’m pretty sure I’ve gone through everything in this room and nothing else looks remotely artifact-like. Will you guys be okay if I move downstairs?”

“Sure,” says Steve. “We’re sharing our life stories.”

“We are?” says Toby.

“I told you mine. Now it’s your turn.”

Claudia laughs, but it’s strained. “All right. I’m heading down. Keep each other awake.”

Her feet stomp off, and then there’s a pause. Too long. Steve starts speaking quickly. “Look, if you really don’t want to tell me about how you became a cop or whatever, you don’t have to. But we have to find something to talk about.”

“It really isn’t that interesting. I didn’t give you the whole story at first, but I mostly decided to do it hoping it would convince my dad that I wasn’t worthless for being gay. He never really thought I was worthless, but he did warm up a lot after I started at the police academy.”

“Sure, that makes sense. And do you like being a cop?”

“Yeah, I actually do. I wasn’t sure I would at first, I guess. It was just what I was supposed to do. But my first partner—cop partner, I mean—really helped me figure out what I was doing and helped get me promoted to detective quickly, even though he was still a beat cop after thirty years on the force.”

“Sort of a mentor. I’ve known guys like that.”

“And you’re ATF, right? Did you have any mentors like that?”

“No. I’ve always been pretty aimless until… until I joined this new group. Having a low tolerance for bullshit doesn’t usually get you in well with the higher-ups, if you know what I mean.”

Toby lets out a surprisingly mellow laugh. “Yeah. I guess people with the power to promote you don’t like it very much when you can tell if they’re lying.”

“But it worked out. I wouldn’t have gotten this new job if I hadn’t been able to tell they were lying, and despite all the secrecy, I really love it.”

“Hey, that’s great. And what about boyfriends?”

Steve’s stomach lurches. Oh, no. He does not want this to go there… or does he? It’s just something to talk about. When it comes to his lie detector ability, it’s a perfectly natural segue. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “Well, you can imagine how well that’s worked out, I think. When I’m on a first date and I can tell every time the guy lies…”

“Yeah, that would get pretty irritating. Though I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind having an ability like that. It would have saved me some pretty big mistakes.”

“I guess I can be grateful that all the crap gets cut off at the beginning.”

“Have you ever met any honest guys?”

“Sure.” _You._ Toby, despite how irritating Steve found him at first, has only lied to him once, and it wasn’t about anything important. Still… he grits his teeth and forces himself to tell as much truth as he’d want to hear. “I dated a guy once for almost a year, but he was an architect, and he moved to New York. I didn’t want to move, so we split up and lost touch.”

“Do you ever wish you’d moved with him?”

Steve thinks about it. Actually, he realizes, he didn’t. “For a while I did, when I’d gone a couple of years without any relationships that progressed past the second date and was feeling miserable and lonely. But I don’t anymore. I doubt I would have gotten this job if I’d moved to New York, and like I said, I love it. Plus, I don’t think that guy—Mark, his name was—and I would have stayed together permanently. He was too… artsy.”

Toby laughs again. “I get that. I had a boyfriend like that in college. He was a performance art major. Completely, insanely hot, and apparently he thought I was hot too, but we fought a lot and there just couldn’t have been anything permanent there. I figure if I can find a cop to date, that might work out on a permanent basis, but it’s not a profession that attracts a lot of gay guys.”

“Or Buddhists.”

“What?”

“I’m a Buddhist. Not a very good one.”

“Wow, that’s… that’s cool, man. I admire that.”

Steve snorts. “I said I wasn’t a very good one.”

“Sure, but at least you have a religion. Something you pay attention to, I guess. I was raised Christmas-and-Easter Lutheran, and I don’t even go to church that often anymore. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Well, maybe sometime we can meditate together. I’d say now, but that would be dangerous.”

“I think I’d like to try that.”

They are saved from the awkward silence that Steve can feel bearing down on them by the reappearance of Claudia. “All right!” she announces loudly. “I’ve got a few things that look artifact-y. I’m going to try them. Ready?”

“Are we ever,” says Steve, then regrets his vehemence. He doesn’t want Toby to think that he’s really sick of being stuck here with him. Or does he? He hates being stuck, but the company isn’t bad. Claudia might be better, but if she was in here with him, no one would be out there to rescue them and they might have no chance at all.

“Yeah, I think I’d be getting a sore neck if I could feel anything,” says Toby, which makes them all laugh and defuses the awkwardness and makes Steve relieved.

“I am now trying a tiny cow figurine,” says Claudia.

“Why a cow?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It was cute. And it looks more expensive than the other figurines. Can’t you just trust my judgment for once?”

“How am I not trusting your judgment?”

She sighs. “Maybe you were right. That didn’t work. Okay, fancy handkerchief.”

“Are you trying different things to do with it?” Toby asks. “Like with the cow, you could put it on top, put it in front, use the cow’s front legs, use its back legs…”

“I hadn’t thought of using its legs,” said Claudia. “Good thinking. I’ll try that once I’ve finished testing all the variations on the handkerchief.”

“You really have a sense for this,” says Steve. “Which is impressive, since we still haven’t explained to you what exactly it is.”

“I think I’m starting to get a sense of it. And I read a lot of fantasy novels. This seems like the kind of thing that would come up in one of them.”

Claudia laughs. “I like this guy. If I can ever get you two out of here, we can be friends.”

“Definitely,” Steve agrees, and realizes his hand is stretching out to touch Toby’s in the empty blackness. Toby clasps his hand around Steve’s, and Steve swallows against a suddenly dry throat.

“Okay, I tried a bunch of combinations with the handkerchief,” says Claudia. “Trying the cow’s legs now… nope. Okay, next item! Antique telephone!”

“A telephone, really?” says Steve.

“Why would you have an antique telephone in your house if it’s not an artifact?”

“You guys aren’t really all that secretive,” says Toby. “You keep talking about this artifact stuff.”

“We’re not used to having to hide that much,” says Steve. “We usually don’t spend so much time with people we’re supposed to be keeping secrets from. Most people figure we’re just crazy and move on.”

“I like people thinking I’m crazy,” says Claudia. “It makes them underestimate me.”

“Really?” Steve is surprised by her attitude, but he’s not going to pry in front of Toby.

“Really,” says Claudia. “Trying an antique clock.”

“Maybe these people just like antiques,” says Toby.

“Maybe, but I have to try,” says Claudia. She groans with disappointment. “Nope, nothing’s working here. I’m going to call Artie back… Artie? Any suggestions?”

“What have you tried? We’re almost there.”

“Porcelain cow, old handkerchief, antique phone, antique clock.”

“Look for something that looks like Sarah Bernhardt would have owned it.”

“Nothing in this house is that old, except maybe for the clock.”

“When we get there, we can carry the coffin around the house and see if it reacts with anything,” Leena puts in.

“No,” says Claudia. “I’ll keep looking. I’ll try the office—maybe he just hid it in plain sight. When you two get here, you try to find Godfrey for us. He could have the other piece to the artifact with him.”

“Fine,” says Artie. “We have to get off now—we’re landing. We’ll call you again once we’re out of the airport.”

“Sorry, guys,” says Claudia. “Looks like I’ll have to leave you again.”

“We’ll be okay,” says Toby. “Just look for whatever you can to get us out of here soon.”

“Right! Hang in there, Jinksy.” Her footsteps trot off.

“Jinksy?” asks Toby, amused.

“It’s her nickname for me. It was either that or Poopy-pants.”

“You chose well. Can I just call you Steve?”

“Please do. Actually, Claud’s my best friend, so it would be weird for someone else to use the same nickname as her anyway.”

“Yeah, I get that. Though my best friend is my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Steve’s heart flutters. Why is his heart fluttering? “What’s his name? Or her.”

“Her name’s Luna. After Luna Lovegood. She has long, curly blonde hair…”

“You weren’t kidding about reading a lot of fantasy novels, huh?”

“No.” Toby laughs. “Is that… I mean, that doesn’t weird you out or anything, does it?”

“Not at all. Like you noticed, my life is basically one long fantasy novel.” Are they flirting now? Dammit, they are flirting. And Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy about it.

“Do you—” Toby starts, but he’s interrupted by the reappearance of Claudia.

“I really think I’ve got it this time!” she cries.

“That was quick,” says Steve.

“It was actually just sitting out on the desk. But it’s definitely old, and it’s definitely weird. It’s a perfume bottle with no perfume in it. Trying it sitting on the lid… nope. Trying to pry up the lid with the bottle. No, that’s not working either.” She sounds frustrated. “Okay, one more thing. Let me try spraying the coffin.”

“You’re going to spray us with perfume?” Steve asks, skeptical. “Wouldn’t we notice if the coffin smelled like perfume?”

“I told you, there’s no perfume in it,” says Claudia. She sneezes. “Just dust. But I may as well try this. Spray, you little devil, you. And now the moment of truth.”

There’s light.


	5. Artifact-Enhanced

Steve jumps out of the coffin so fast he trips over his own feet. Toby is right behind him, Claudia in front of him, grabbing him with gloved hands and steadying him. “Oh, my god,” Claudia is saying over and over again.

“We’re okay,” says Steve. He laughs a little hysterically and hugs her. “We’re okay. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she says. “I’m going to neutralize this sucker in a second.”

Steve looks at Toby to make sure he’s steady. “Are you good?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Toby takes a deep breath. “Wow. I can’t believe we made it out of there.”

Steve nods. “I have to admit, I was pretty shaky for a while there.

“Bagging it,” warns Claudia.

“Cover your eyes,” says Steve, reaching out half-automatically to cover Toby’s eyes with his hand as he shields his own. There’s no time for awkwardness before Claudia drops the perfume bottle into the neutralizer bag and sparks fly.

“What the hell?” says Toby.

“Sorry,” says Steve, dropping his hand quickly.

“Not you,” says Toby. He shakes his head. “Living in a fantasy novel.”

“Pretty much,” says Claudia, proudly sealing the bag. “Now I think I better spray the inside of the coffin. Unless you want to do it, Steve?”

“No,” he says. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be happy never seeing that coffin ever again.” And he keeps looking at Toby. He really wants to keep looking at Toby. They were in the coffin together for hours, but they could never really see each other.

Toby’s phone rings and he grabs it from his hip. “Yes? Hello?” He listens for a moment, his eyes going wide and then his whole face breaking out in a huge grin. “Yeah, I thought so. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll tell them. Thanks again.” He hangs up and turns the grin on Steve, who stumbles back slightly from the force of it. “That was the hospital looking for the two CDC agents. It seems all of the patients have woken up.”

Claudia cheers. “We are heroes today!”

“I hope the lingering effects wear off quickly,” says Steve. “I wouldn’t want to be Mrs. Godfrey still thinking she was dead most of the time.”

“What should I do about Mr. Godfrey?” asks Toby. “I don’t actually have anything I can arrest him on—I mean, I guess there’s attempted murder, but I can’t prove that in court.”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know what to tell you. We hunt artifacts, not bad guys. Usually the bad guys implode of their own accord from the artifact use.”

Claudia’s Farnsworth rings. She snatches it with a huge grin, dropping the neutralizer spray. “I got them out!”

Artie and Leena both sigh with relief. “What was the other piece?” asks Artie.

“Perfume bottle,” says Claudia. “It was empty, though.”

“Of course,” says Artie. “Sarah Bernhardt’s atomizer. She would use it to put on perfume as her first step in waking up for the day.”

Now why didn’t Artie tell them that earlier? Claudia must have the same thought, because she rolls her eyes. “Should we still try to find Godfrey?”

“Don’t have to,” says Leena. “He’s here, sleeping on a bench. We saw someone try to wake him up, but he won’t budge.”

“He must have tried to get out of the country,” says Toby. “And then, what, the artifact backfired on him?”

“I told you,” says Steve, raising his eyebrows. “They implode of their own accord.”

“I guess we’ll have to send him to the hospital. Hopefully that means he’s out of Mrs. Godfrey’s hair. She couldn’t possibly want him around anymore.”

“I hope not,” says Claudia. She throws herself down onto the messy bed. “Now is the boring part of the job. Waiting for Artie and Leena to show up so we can figure out how to get this coffin home safely.”

“I’d better get back to the hospital and deal with the patients and the doctors who’ve been working on them,” says Toby. “We don’t want them getting sent home too quickly. Um, how long will you two be sticking around in the city?” He’s looking directly at Steve.

“Probably not long,” says Steve regretfully. “We have to get this stuff back to… well, where it goes, which I actually can’t tell you. But we live in a town called Univille in South Dakota.”

“South Dakota,” says Toby. “Not a lot of crime there. But they probably need cops anyway.”

“Whoa,” says Steve, but he has no idea what to say next.

And he doesn’t have to say anything, because Toby takes him by the shoulders and kisses him. It’s the kiss equivalent of the sparks that flew out of the neutralizer bag a few minutes ago. Steve kisses him back.

“I’m just teasing,” says Toby, grinning. “We can figure this out later.” He pulls out a business card and a pen and scribbles on the back, then hands it to Steve. “All my numbers and my Skype.”

Steve takes it, still feeling a little dazed. “Thanks. I… I’ll Skype you.”

“Awesome. Talk to you later.” And Toby heads down the stairs.

He probably isn’t out of the house by the time Claudia whoops and jumps up to hug Steve. But he doesn’t think he minds.

“Nothing’s been decided,” he protests.

“Says you,” Claudia cries, tweaking his nose. “Now that’s the way to meet a guy.”

“What, get stuck in a coffin with him for hours?”

“Exactly. It’s an artifact-enhanced romance.”

“Yeah, you can try it next. See how you like it.”

Claudia grins and hugs him again. “Maybe I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sarah Bernhardt's sleeping coffin is [a real thing](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Bernhardt#Stage_career); the atomizer is entirely my invention.


End file.
